


Gordon Cowboy Depression

by Phroggie



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cowboy AU, Cuz I can and I will and I'm obsessed, Frenrey slowburn, Gordon is depressed as hell, I'll hopefully be makin several chapters... i have lots of ideas :], I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Smoking, The science team but make it bandit crew, kinda? gordon drinks at the start but thats p much all I plan for in that regard!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phroggie/pseuds/Phroggie
Summary: Gordon, a farmhand tired of his boring, lonely life joins a band of misfit outlaws and falls in love.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Tommy Coolatta/Forzen
Comments: 23
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

# Gordon Cowboy Depression

* * *

# Chapter 1  
  


After a long day of working at a local farm, Gordon Freeman finds himself walking down a dirt road, the dark, starry night sky hanging above him. He absently kicks a rock as he goes along, head down, scuffing his feet against the road as he goes. How many nights has he moped his way to the saloon now? He's lost count.

 _That can't be a good thing._ He thinks, but quickly makes the decision to shove the thought under the metaphorical rug- something he does too often, especially nowadays. Ever since he left home, left the old family farm, had that big fight with his parents and effectively abandoned his entire immediate family, it's been that way. His head was always spinning with thoughts, usually negative, usually self-destructive. Well, at least he can always try and forget about it in an hour or so at the bottom of a bottle. What else could he do about it? He had no one to talk to, and he certainly couldn't just go back home- _or could I?_ A more hopeful part of him says.

Soon, he's sitting on a bar stool, idly stroking his beard and waiting for the bartender to finish serving another man his drink. It smells like booze and cigar smoke, and the sound of a (admittedly quite boring) game of poker and slightly more interesting piano music fills his ears. The saloon is lit by a few hanging oil lamps, washing the wooden structure with dim yellow light. 

"The usual, Mr. Freeman?" 

The sound of the bartender's voice startles Gordon. He hadn't realized how zoned out he had been. 

"Uh- yeah. The usual." He tries to collect himself, "Thanks."

God, had he really been here that often? The idea that he has a usual order at this dingy, probably rat-infested saloon worried Gordon more than he'd care to admit, but, he guessed this was just how his life was, now. Whether he liked it or not. He pays the tender for his drink- a cheap whiskey (he would like to get something a bit fancier, but he's pushing his budget already by getting anything at all, so he can't exactly be picky about it) - and promptly takes a unceremonious swig of it when the tender serves him. He notices how he barely reacts to it, while what feels like only a few nights ago, one good chug like that would be enough to make his head feel fuzzy.   
  
Gordon sighs, trying to stave off the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he's been drinking too much- he didn't come here to add another thing to worry about on a list of things that was already way too long. _Whatever. It's whatever._ He tells himself, and drinks a bit more. A few glasses later, the weight of money in his pocket gets a lot lighter and Gordon gets a lot more intoxicated. Granted, he's not drunk- or at least not drunk enough that it's noticeable, he thinks. 

Regardless, he'd taken up a new hobby of listening to the two men across from him at the bar, chatting and drinking. One of them hadn't stopped talking about how much money he'd made from bounty hunting for local sheriff's- "I've hit every town within a day's ride!" He claims, and Gordon feels like rolling his eyes. Although... Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea. He was pretty strapped for cash, and booze wasn't free by any means. It couldn't possibly be that hard, right? I mean, a man can't be any harder to wrangle than a longhorn is, Gordon rationalizes.

The next thing he knows, he's made the decision- the way a definitely-not-drunk-20-something-year-old makes a decision- to go out to the jailhouse, which doubled as the sheriff's office, and takes a look at the wanted posters. Like anyone who needed money would, Gordon looks for whichever one had the highest bounty and pretty much totally disregards every other posting. He takes a closer look, and tries to commit the drawing of the man to memory. 

**WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE** the poster reads, _Benry Calhoun. For theivery and murder of 3 lawmen._

The man on the poster had long, dark hair, scruffy facial hair on his chin, sharp cheekbones, and blue eyes with prominent dark circles. His shoulders were broad, although he seemed pretty skinny. Gordon looks over his shoulder before tearing the poster down, folding it, and stuffing it into his coat pocket. He'd have to ask around to see if there were any leads on where he was, Gordon guessed. 

God... 

What had he gotten himself into?  
  


Gordon wakes up that morning in the attic bedroom of the farm owner's old house, a familiar pain in his back from the stiff mattress and the dull ache of a hangover lingering in his head. Light streams in through the window, unobstructed by the thin white curtains that covered it. It was going to be another long day, he thinks. This becomes especially true once he puts on his coat while getting dressed for the day, and reaches into his pocket to see if the poster was still there- he half expected that he had dreamt everything about the bounty, and part of him was relieved at the thought, while another prepared to mourn the lost opportunity.

But alas, the poster was still there, the tired blue eyes of the man's drawn portrait staring through him just as they had the night before. Gordon sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, thinking. Did he really want to go through with this? If the poster was to be believed, this Benry character had already killed 3 men- and lawmen, at that. Gordon assumes someone like that would be significantly harder to kill than someone like him, who probably shot a gun 3 times in his whole life, and got into maybe 2 physical fights when he was a teenager (and that's if you're being generous). The realization of how absurd of a notion it was that someone as inexperienced as himself could capture a wanted killer was hitting Gordon like a ton of bricks.

The thought sticks with him for the rest of the day, though, and plans for how he was going to track Calhoun down swarmed his mind like angry bees. It didn't seem to matter to his brain that it was a suicide mission- he just couldn't get the idea out of his head.  
_It beats rotting away in some fucking barn._ He thinks, _at least being shot to death by an outlaw would be a more exciting way out.  
  
_The moment he was allowed to leave the farm that night, Gordon went straight for the saloon. Unlike the previous night, he walked with a newfound purpose. He looked more alert, maybe even a little paranoid, honestly. A part of him still wasn't sure that this was a good idea, but it was a faint voice at this point. He had his mind firmly set on at least trying to see if there were any leads. Actually going out to find him, well, that was a different story- a bridge Gordon would cross when he got to it. He's really just doing this because he had nothing better to do, Gordon thinks, there was no way he'd _actually_ find anything out, right? It couldn't possibly be that easy.

Except it was that easy, apparently. For a man with a bounty on his head, Benry Calhoun didn't seem like he covered his tracks very well. 

It only took a few questions and a tip that made Gordon's wallet cry for the bartender to tell him that he'd seen Benry and a skinny, black-haired man in "fancy" clothes drop by for a drink just a day prior. Said something about going east, the tender claimed. Gordon barely knew how to react- Jesus, if it was that simple to track them down, he might be hunting down a corpse. Or maybe he just got lucky, and saw the poster before anyone else did. Either way, he thanked the bartender and went on his way. He hadn't planned to be ready to head out this early. He thought he'd be going around town all night and coming away with nothing to go on, but apparently he was wrong.

So now he found himself, much earlier than anticipated, in the stables, saddling up his horse and letting his thoughts race. Getting Demon- yes, he named his horse demon, he was young and they bit him and the name just stuck- ready to ride was second nature to him by now, after having done it so many times before. Every action is committed to his muscle memory, and things go smoothly as usual. He makes sure to stay away from her mouth, though- it may have been over a decade since she bit him last, but he still rather be safe than sorry. 

As he stands back after it was all said and done, he smooths down the reddish-brown hair on her thick neck and starts to realize even more what he was getting himself into. He was really going to do this, huh? He starts to think about what his parents would think, if he died. Would they ever even know? Would anyone remember him, or look for him if he never came back? 

... Did it even matter...?   
  


He sighs, and tries to shove everything to the back of his mind, and the thoughts go kicking and screaming like a child mid-tantrum. Gordon rests his forehead against Demons neck, closing his eyes, trying to calm his mind. He feels his hands shaking. _Deep breaths, Gordon._ He tells himself, and imagines it in his mother's voice. It makes him feel like crying, honestly, but he chokes it down. 

"God, Minnie- what am I _thinking...?_ " Gordon whispers. It wouldn't be the first time he talked to his horse like she was a person, and it probably wouldn't be the last time, either. He stays there for a little longer, until he feels his heart stop racing, and his hands stop shaking, listening to the large animals pulse and letting it guide his own breathing.   
  


Once he's decided he's calmed down enough, he backs away, and gets up onto her back. Demon wasn't a small horse by any means- she wasn't purebred, but his father always told him she was a Clydesdale, at least in some part- her size alone supported that claim. He has to jump to get on, and only just barely manages to hook his leg up over her back.   
Once he's settled, he holds her reins in one hand, and they head out into the night.

It's a long, boring ride east. There's not much to do, other than look around at the boring, uniform landscape and try not to get too paranoid about the fact that he's all alone on a path he's never been on, going god-knows-where, to find someone who is either dead or ready and willing to kill him. That's not even taking into account that no one really knew he was out here. It would be too easy for any wandering bandit to rob him, beat the shit out of him (or kill him, Gordon thinks). Don't think about it Gordon, don't think about it- ... It's no use. He's thinking about it.  
At least there was only one road- well, more like a path in some areas- headed east from the town, because otherwise he would have been wandering even _more_ aimlessly than he already is. 

He stares out at the night sky, losing himself to the slow crawl of time as Demon trots along at a casual pace. He doesn't even notice when she cranes her neck to the side to bite leaves off of the short trees which lined the side of the dirt path- usually he'd correct her, but he's not paying attention at the moment. Instead, he's lost in thought, as usual. He'd been spending a lot of time in his own head lately. He didn't have any friends to talk to, so he kept himself company. _Real shitty company_ , Gordon thinks, _no wonder no one wants to talk to me.  
_ The more he considers it, Gordon comes to the realization that he doesn't particularly like himself, that he'd like to have someone other than his own brain and a mean old horse to converse with. In all honesty, though, this wasn't the first time he's come to this conclusion. It's a regular thing, but he learns to live with it, or at least he thinks he has. If living with it meant burying his feelings, isolating himself, and drinking himself to sleep every other night- then Gordon is living with it, and doing it well. 

God, he felt like shit.   
  
Gordon's brain is surprisingly quiet for what feels like a few minutes, like he's burnt himself out. It's a melancholic feeling, an emptiness he was always reaching for, but apparently it was uncomfortably isolating when it actually happened. He leans forward to pet Demons neck again, and she huffs in response. Gordon wasn't sure why, but Demons companionship felt like it might've been the only thing keeping him sane. At the very least, it made him feel a bit better in moments like these. He smiles to himself, a slight tug at the edges of his mouth. "What'd I do without you, Minnie?"   
He'd given her that nickname after his mom started taking him to church more often. Apparently people didn't appreciate it when you said you loved a demon when you were there, so he shortened it out of necessity. Monnie had felt too unnatural, didn't slip off the tongue easy- but Minnie did, and so Minnie it was.

Gordons smile falters. The memory was sweet, but it was distant. It carries a familiar guilt, and a mourning of something that he once had- something that he could've kept, too, if he hadn't been so fucking headstrong and naive. 

Sure, he'd had his reasons- he wanted something more for himself, he didn't want to work on his family's farm forever. He didn't want to waste his education on harvesting crops and milking cows day after day after boring, agonizing day. So Gordon left. He left, expecting to get a good job, maybe a wife and a kid, and to settle down somewhere, and to life a nice, long life- a life of his own. A life he could be proud of when he died, a life that someone out there would mourn, would care about, would talk about. But... But no, that didn't happen. It couldn't happen. It was a hopeful pipedream of someone who hadn't realized how good he had it. He had been so fucking stupid. And he did all that to get away from farms, from livestock, from monotony- and look where the hell he was now. 

Same old fucking job, now with 100% less relationships, and 100% more crushing hopelessness. 

Gordon grits his teeth. 

_What a fucking joke._

He can feel his hands shaking again, and his mind spews more insults at him, one after the other, until he's overwhelmed. So much so, he doesn't notice the tears streaming down his face until one falls from his chin and lands on his hand. For a second, he thinks it might be raining, and then he notices the wet feeling on his cheeks. 

He wipes them away in his sleeve frantically.

Christ, he felt pathetic.

 _C'mon, gordon, get it together._ He tells himself, and this time it's in his own voice, or whatever vague equivalent of his own voice that lived in his thoughts did. _You didn't come out here to cry like a bitch... Focus, for Christ's sake._

It takes him another few minutes of calming himself down before he can get back on track, and stop crying. And by calming himself down he meant getting frustrated at his own overwhelming thoughts and feelings, and just forcing himself to ignore it. He was doing that almost as well as he was "living with it".   
  


Gordon shifts his thoughts back to the matter at hand, the reason why he was even out here in the first place. The bounty. He imagines the poster in his mind- it's not difficult to do, the damn thing seemed to be haunting him. He couldn't stop thinking about it, picturing it in full detail more often than he'd like. It's a good thing, he guesses, at least that meant he would recognize Benry if he saw him. He had the portrait burnt into his skull by now, he had every trait- the dark unkempt hair, the sharp cheekbones and long, hooked nose, and those tired blue eyes- committed to memory.

Moving on from the portrait, he thinks about the text- the reason why Benry was wanted in the first place. Robbery, well, that was fine- Gordon had stolen things here and there in his youth, although he'd never admit to that. But... murder. That was a different story entirely. Gordons skin crawled. Sure, it happened all the time- but that didn't make it bother him any less. And now that he's meant to capture a murderer, it especially bothers him. 

He hadn't even considered it until now, but the poster had said dead or alive... Gordon only planned to capture Calhoun, hogtie him and bring him back to town on the back of his horse. But now a different scenario is playing out in his head. What if he'd have to kill them, to save himself? Then what- Gordon was okay with having been a petty thief, but a murderer...? 

He didn't want that on his conscience. He couldn't have that guilt- he was already so full of it, he thinks he might burst if he had to add even more. 

Now he thinks about what'd happen, if by some miracle it all works in his favour (as much as something like this _could_ work in his favour...) and he brings Calhoun in.

Would he be sentencing a man to his death?

He wouldn't've pulled the trigger, but... it would be his fault, by extension. 

And for what?

A bit of coin? 

Was a man's life really worth being able to get a bit of money that he'd probably just piss away at some saloon?

Gordon thinks not.

The more he thinks about this whole plan, the less he wants to go through with it. He's frustrated that he came all the way out here, just to turn back with nothing to show for it, but... That's what he was going to do. 

He tugs on one side of Demon's reins, guiding her to turn around, when he hears the sound of another horse's hooves against the ground, approaching him. He'd been so lost in thought, staring out at the sky, he'd totally failed to notice the man approaching him. They rode a shiny black horse with a long, wavy mane- a fresian, gordon thinks. But that thought is drowned out when Gordon looks at the man's face as they start to pass by him.

Holy _fuck._

It was Benry motherfucking Calhoun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon discovers Benry is definitely not alone, in the worst way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to @bronbaewrt on Instagram for the beautiful art of Gordon and Demon! It seriously made my day to see it :]

Gordon is so shocked that he's suddenly somewhere between being frozen in place and running away like his life depended on it

Despite that gut reaction, something in Gordon wills him to act- maybe there was a part of him that wanted to take this opportunity, saw this encounter as some kind of sign to tell him that he was meant to be out here, to be doing this- to be going through with it. 

He uses his feet to squeeze Demons sides, willing her to go faster- he had to get a little closer to Benry, who had already passed him, if he was going to do what he was thinking about doing. Or maybe he wasn't thinking at all. If anything, this felt like pure instinct rather than something he thought about doing before actually doing it.

He grips the rope of his lasso, which he had attached to his belt, and readies himself to throw it. His heart beats loud in his ears, and time feels somehow slower.

Benry looks behind him- he felt Gordon's eyes on him- and reaches for his revolver. Before he can get his hand on the grip, Gordon's gotten the loop of his lasso around him, and he promptly yanks him rather roughly off the back of his horse.

Benry groans in pain, feeling his back hit the ground hard with a thud.

"What the hell?!" He shouts angrily, wriggling around like a worm in a futile attempt to free himself. 

Gordon just laughs in response. Not because he's happy, no- it's a short, shocked chuckle, laced with disbelief. He couldn't believe it- he... he ACTUALLY did it, and he wasn't dead, and-

Benry's incessant shouting shatters his train of thought. He had a thick southern accent, like most people around these parts, and it seemed to get higher and higher in pitch the angrier he got. It was downright grating.

Then Gordon realizes that the job isn't done yet. He had to tie them up better than that, unless he wanted to get shot and left on the side of the road to rot. So he slides off of Demons back hurriedly, collecting the excess rope in his hands as he moves closer to Beney. As soon as he's within range, the scrawnier man starts to snap his teeth at Gordon, trying to bite him to no avail. It's a bit unnerving how feral he acts, but it isn't enough to scare Gordon away.

Still riding a high of adrenaline, Gordon gets the job done fast- first, he gathers Benry's hands and pins them behind his back- it wasn't particularly difficult to do when he could wrap his hand around both of Benry's wrists like it was nothing. He ties them together. Then, he forces Benrys legs up and binds his ankles- Benry doesn't make it easy for him, though, squirming and kicking and moving every which way, spewing curses and insults all the while. Even still, Gordon's determined to finish what he started. He does wish he had some way to gag him, though- all that noise was starting to give him a headache.

Without a second thought, Gordon picks Benry off the ground like a sack of potatoes, and tosses him over his shoulder. Benrys shouting is loud in his ears.

"Fucking bastard! Let go 'ah me! I'll kill you, fucker! I'll- I'll-"

"Would you shut the hell up?! We got a long ride back-"

"The hell we do! I ain't goin nowhere!"

"Sure you aren't." Gordon's voice drips with sarcasm and annoyance as he drapes him over Demons backside, behind the saddle.

Gordon smiles to himself. The sight of Benry on Demons back made his chest swell with pride. He was right- a man really wasn't any harder to wrangle than a longhorn.

His triumphant moment wouldn't last long, however.

Gordon doesn't hear it over the sound of Benry's complaining, but footsteps approach him from behind.

Then Benry says something... Weird.

"Tommy!"

... Tommy?

Gordon is about to ask what the hell he's talking about, when an intense pain blossoms in the back of his head. Before he gets the chance to process what's happened, he's out like a light. Okay. Men were definitely harder to wrangle than he had thought. Especially when they had a friend.

The next thing Gordon knows, he's waking up to the feeling of ropes digging into his skin. The back of his head erupts with pain, an intense ache that clouds his brain. He tries to lift his head up, his slumped position making it difficult. He manages to do it, groaning at the pain in his neck. He lets his head rest against whatever the hell he was tied to. It felt like... Tree bark? His eyes open slowly, and when he gets a glimpse of himself, they shoot open. He was tied to a fucking tree, thankfully still clothed, although he could tell he didn't have his gun- the weight of it had left the holster on his waist. Oh god. He was defenseless. He starts to panic, but tries to convince himself that maybe they left him here and he'd be able to wiggle himself free somehow- then, he notices something alarming. They definitely had not left him there.

A few feet from him, four people sat around a lit campfire, chatting. There were four tents set up as well, filling the small clearing they occupied. Gordon only recognizes one of the people around the fire- Benry. He didn't know the others- there were two older men, and a young-looking man with dark hair. Oh god, oh fuck- now this bastard wasn't alone? He had just- he had just assumed it would just be him and Benry, god, fuck- this isn't good- he had only planned to deal with one, not fucking FOUR, jesus christ-

Gordon starts panicking for real now, his eyes wide open and his heart threatening to burst with how hard it was beating in his chest.

He didn't want to die here. He couldn't die here. Not like this, fuck, fuck- Gordon almost bursts out crying then and there, but his pride is stronger than his fear. Even now, with the possibility of death staring him in the eyes, he wouldn't shed a tear in front of another man if he could help it. 

Although that should probably be the least of his concerns right now, especially as the ringing in his ears dissipates enough that he can start to hear what they were talking about. 

"We should just kill him, throw his body into the river." Says the skinnier, older man. His voice is somewhat nasally and high pitch. He sounds jaded by the situation already, which did _not_ bode well for Gordon in the slightest. 

It didn't help that no one disagreed with him right away. Gordon feels another surge of panic rise in his throat, and he wants to beg for his life, for forgiveness- but nothing comes out. All he manages to choke out is another pained groan. The sound makes his distress even more glaringly obvious, but more importantly, it finally alerts the group to his conciousness.

Silence washes over the group suddenly- the chatter is immediately put to a stop the moment Gordon piped up. The larger of the two old men is the first to break it. He stands up with a light huff, pushing his thick hands against his knees as he gets up. 

"Good morning!" He chirps. He sounds... Eerily cheerful. His tone didn't match the situation whatsoever. Gordon was scared for his life, and this man was talking to him as if he was greeting his neighbor. It threw him for a loop so much, he didn't know how to respond. 

It didn't seem like his body would cooperate with him enough to do so anyways. All his words come out as incoherent, quiet mumbling. That hit to the head had really done a number on him.

The large old man sighs, and looks up at Gordon- he's significantly shorter than him. 

"Can you hear me?"

Gordon nods weakly.

"I've got some questions for you, okay? Nod if you understand."

Gordon nods again. 

"Alright," the old man slaps his hands together and takes a deep breath, as if to prepare himself. "First things first. Why did you come after my boy?" 

Gordon furrows his brows, confused. His boy? Was this Benrys father? Surely not- they looked nothing alike. Benry had been so pale, and the old man was quite clearly brown. Maybe he'd been adopted? Or maybe it was just a nickname?

"Hello?" The old man urges. He looks impatient, so Gordon hurries up.

"... Benry?"

In the back, Benry pipes up. He sounds surprisingly different when he's not yelling.

"Yeah, man, you- uhhhh- you fuckin', hauled me off ah Sweetie, a-and you- it hurt, man, why'd you do that-" 

Benry clearly plans on continuing, but the old man cuts him off before he can ramble any more. "Yes. Benry."

At that, Gordons head is wracked with fear once again. Holy fuck, what did he DO? What was he THINKING?! He could have- he should have just, just left Benry the hell alone, oh my god, he was so FUCKED! Why the hell did he think that he could do this?! Why did he assume Benry would be ALONE? What the fuck had gotten into him! Jesus Christ, this was a mess, this was- this was horrible! 

Gordon didn't have the luxury of being able to continue that train of thought. He had apparently taken too long to explain himself to the old man, and his impatience came to a peak. Without warning, he punches Gordon square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 

Gordon was taken aback, feeling pain course through his body- if that hadn't broken his bones, he would consider himself a lucky man.

"Come on, use your words!" The old man demands, his tone still friendly and guiding. Although it seems clear that his patience was wearing thin. 

Gordon didn't particularly feel like sleeping with the fishes just yet, so he answers hastily.

"OKAY, okay, I'll tell you!" 

"Good." The old man briefly interrupts, but Gordon doesn't stop to listen.

"I was drunk, I just wanted- I just wanted some quick cash, I don't know what I was thinking, I just- look, man, I don't even DO this kind of thing, I'm a farmhand, I'm a _nobody_...!" 

Gordon doesn't stop there. He keeps rambling on, mostly repeating himself, until it devolves into pleading for mercy. He swore up and down they'd never see his face again, that he'd forget about this whole thing, that no one even knew he was out here right now, that no one would ever know any of this had ever happened! 

The old man sighs dismissively, like he's tired of hearing him speak. 

"Okay, okay, calm down. That's all I wanted to know." 

Gordon stops talking then, looking surprised and utterly relieved as the old man walks back to the others and sits back down where he had been before. 

Gordon gulps. Did that mean he was safe? Would they just... Let him go now? His eyes gleam with newfound hope. He almost feels like crying from how overwhelming the relief was. Although part of him is frustrated with feeling that way- what was with him and wanting to cry all the time lately?

The group of men talk amongst themselves more, and this time around, Gordon can hear them more clearly. The younger looking man with the dark hair starts the conversation. 

"What do we do with him now?" His voice is high pitch and sounds almost strained. He has a slight British accent, just enough to hear but not enough to really stand out.

"I say we keep him alive," Replied the larger old man, "He seems harmless enough." 

"You trust people too easily, Coomer." The smaller old man- the one who'd suggested they threw Gordon's corpse into the river- scoffs at the larger one, who's name was Coomer, apparently. "How can we know he won't rat us out? We should end it now. Corpses can't tattle."

"We can't know for sure." The younger man agrees. "But I don't want to kill him." 

The smaller old man motions to the younger of the three, looking at Coomer as if to say, "see? I'm right."

Coomer sighs, and looks at Gordon. A sense of dread creeps back into Gordon's mind when he does. Coomer seemed to be the leader of this group; if Gordon were to survive, Coomer would have to take mercy on him. Gordon's fate very may well depend on whatever the old man was going to say next.

"I say we sleep on it, then." Coomer says dismissively. Then he leans forward and turned his attention to Benry, who had been quiet for the entirety of the conversation thus far, off in his own world. "What do you think?"

Benry had been silently staring right at Gordon this whole time, only shifting his gaze once Coomer asks him a question- and even then, it's only for a moment. "I dunno. I think you- I think, uh, we should sleep on it." 

So only one of them was vouching to kill him. That was relieving. He's shocked Benry wasn't the one going for his neck though. Benry's reply came as a surprise. After all, he had been cursing Gordon out to hell and back not long ago, and it had certainly sounded like he had every intention of killing him. Had he really changed his mind already? Gordon hoped that they had, for his own sake... 

After the next few minutes the group begins to head to bed for the night. Benry stays behind with Coomer, still staring at Gordon. It was uncomfortable by this point. His gaze bore through him like knives. 

"One of us has gotta, uh, keep an eye on him." Benry says, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Coomer looks at Gordon, then back to Benry, thinking. Gordon silently hopes that Coomer would be the one watching him overnight rather than Benry- he was almost certain Benry would kill him while the others slept, when there was no one there to stop him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up in fear.

"I suppose so!" Coomer exclaims. "I can stay up with him." 

Benry cuts him off quickly, eagerly. "No- I will." He seems to be adamant about being the one to stay up, given how hastily he responded. Gordon wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Coomer seems to pick up on Benrys insistence, and nods.

"Alright. Well, wake me up if you want to switch." 

"Sure thing, ol' man." 

Coomer leaves to get into his tent, taking one last worried glance over his shoulder at the other two men as he enters. He waves goodbye to them both, and days goodnight before disappearing into the tent. Gordon looks at him desperately. He didn't want to be here all night alone with Benry. In fact, that was the absolute last thing he wanted. The threat of death loomed over him as he imagines all the ways Benry could kill him overnight, when no one was there to stop him. 

Benry stands up from the small wooden stool he had been sitting on. He picks it up before he starts walking over to Gordon, taking it with him. Gordon feels his heart racing, beating harder with every step Benry takes toward him. He forces his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself- or at the very least preparing himself to be hit.

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut until he hears Benry put the stool down, followed by a small thud when Benry plops down onto it once more, now sitting beside Gordon as opposed to the campfire. Gordon hesitantly opens his eyes, still half-expecting Benry to hurt him in some fashion. Yet again, it doesn't happen- the pain never comes- well, aside from the ache in his head and his stomach. The lack of violence on Benrys part confuses and relieves him.

Gordon turns his head to the side, trying to look at Benry- to see what exactly he was up to. Something in him tells him not to- what if he's sharpening a knife? Loading a gun? What if Gordon's eyes on him would be the final straw, the one that broke the camels back? Well, what's done was done, now. He had only started doubting himself once he'd already started to do it. A classic Gordon move.

Thankfully, Benry was doing none of the afformentioned threatening things Gordon had thought up. Instead, he was lighting a cigarette which he held lazily between his lips. He struck his match against the bottom of the box, and held the lit end up to his cigarette, cupping one hand around it as to avoid having the wind put out the matchsticks flame prematurely. Once it catches and successfully lights the cigarette, he flicks the match around to snuff out the fire before tossing it off to the side. He takes a long inhale of smoke, then blows it out, leaning back a bit. 

The two of them stare at each other in uncomfortable silence.

Benry smokes the cigarette until it's almost entirely burned away, savouring it. He had all night, he didn't have to rush it. However, Benry's slow pace mixed with the silent, unannounced staring contest between them was agonizing for Gordon. To him, the cigarette felt like a timer, ticking down to when Benry would finally crack and shoot him. 

But the timer stops- Benry throws it to the ground and crushes it beneath his foot- and nothing happens. Nothing bad at least.

"Guess it's just us out here for the night, farmboy." Benry says, "Gonna be a- a long one. I think." 

His casualness is almost unnerving. It's certainly not what Gordon expects. But maybe if he matched their mood, he'd make it out of here alive.

"My name is Gordon Freeman, not farmboy." Gordon answers, holding back the impulse to gulp nervously. God, why did he say it like that? Why did he say that at _all_? Now they knew his whole name! Could he seriously not think before he spoke, even in a situation like this?! 

Benry just... Laughs at him. An wicked, unhinged cackle. "You don't look like much of a free-man to me." Gordon fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Real funny." 

"Gordon trappedman." 

"Sh-" Gordon starts to say "shut up", but cuts himself off before he can finish the thought. He shouldn't be so reckless as to say that in this situation. This conversation could mean the difference between life and death for him. Or at the very least, the difference between a quick, painless death or a slow, painful one. So instead he says nothing, turning his head to look away from Benry. He can feel their eyes on him.

Benry was right. It _was_ going to be a long night.

He really shouldn't have taken that poster.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who expressed interest in this fic, commented, or left kudos, or even just read it. I was very nervous posting it, and it makes me really happy to see people enjoying it!! I hope you all like this chapter as much as you liked the first one.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and my first time ever posting to A03 so I'm a bit nervous but I hope y'all enjoyed :]


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